


Irony

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Aggression, First Time, Homophobic Language, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secretly a Virgin, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jin keeps his teeth dragging against the harsh line of Mugen’s collarbone, scoring friction-red paths while Mugen continues 'You always did spend longer watching me than pretty girls.'" Jin progresses his relationship with Mugen and discovers something he doesn't expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irony

“I  _knew_  you were a queer.”

Jin doesn’t even bother lifting his head. Mugen can talk all he wants but his sword is out of reach, tossed into the corner of the room along with his red overshirt and both Jin’s swords, still in their sheaths. They don’t need them, for the moment; Mugen’s doing enough damage with his fingernails against Jin’s spine, and he’s not making any effort to wiggle free from Jin’s weight pinning him to the floor. Jin just keeps his teeth dragging against the harsh line of Mugen’s collarbone, scoring friction-red paths while Mugen continues “You always did spend longer watching me than pretty girls.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Jin points out. He pushes up the loose edge of Mugen’s shirt, feels out the clear edges of the other’s ribs under the pattern of long-healed scars. “You’re just as complicit in this as I am.”

“D’you think those big words are sexy or something?” Mugen digs the rough edge of his nails into Jin’s skin, scratches starburst pain in a diagonal line across the other’s back. “Cause they ain’t.”

“You don’t seem to be opposed to it.” Jin slides his fingers down inside Mugen’s pants, brushes his fingers up against the heat of the other’s length. Mugen jerks at the contact, arches up with boneless grace as his fingers lose the edge of their grip on Jin’s skin. “I can certainly cease, if you’d prefer.”

“Hell no I don’t want you to  _stop_.” Mugen draws one hand off Jin’s back, reaches out for the other man’s hips. He misses his mark, barely catches his palm against Jin through the cover of his clothes, but Jin rocks his weight forward and fits himself against Mugen’s hand, and once everything is lined up the aggressive shove of the other’s fingers is enough to feel through the interference of fabric. “You can get on with it  _faster_ , even.”

“Give me a moment.” Jin rocks back on his knees, pulls at Mugen’s pants to drag them off the skinny edge of his hips. Mugen’s knee comes up, digs into Jin’s ribs sharply while he kicks his feet free of the fabric. Jin hisses but Mugen moves away as soon as one foot is loose, fits his legs around the outside of Jin’s knees instead of tangled between them. Jin brings his fingers to his mouth, sucks over them while he touches his fingers to the inside of Mugen’s thigh and pushes. Mugen groans at the contact, slides his leg wide so Jin can flatten his hand into a bracing hold at his knee before sliding his fingers free of his mouth.

“I hope you know what you’re fucking doing,” Mugen says as Jin touches against his entrance. He’s growling, the roughness of his tone nearly entirely eclipsing the uncertainty in the words themselves.

“Have you not done this before?” Jin asks. He pushes with his hand, hard enough that his finger slides into Mugen up to the knuckle. He’s hot, warm and trembling and so tight Jin’s not surprised at the hiss of protest the movement earns him.

“ _Ow_.” Mugen pushes up on an elbow, grabs at Jin’s arm to hold him still. “That  _hurts_.”

“You need to relax.” Jin twists his wrist, eases his finger in farther. Mugen’s leg is shaking under his hand.

“How am I supposed to relax when you’ve got your fucking finger in my ass?” Mugen falls back to the floor in spite of his words, lets his hold on Jin’s arm go. “Whatever, you’re the expert here.”

“I am hardly an expert.” Jin slides his hand back, pushes in again, a little deeper this time; the trembling adrenaline in Mugen’s body is fading, only the idle tension in his hands speaking to his stress. “But it would seem I have more experience than you, at least.”

“Well, sure.” Mugen really is relaxing. His voice is smoothing out into amusement, his legs falling open wider. “Doesn’t take much when it comes to sex.”

It takes a lot to surprise Jin. Still, he can feel the shock spreading wide over his features, raising his eyebrows and dropping his mouth open for a breath. He has to consciously press his lips together, takes a breath while he composes his thoughts and draws his hand back to push another finger into the other. Mugen shudders but he’s still hard, his breathing coming low in his chest as Jin works his fingers in deeper. “Is this your first time?”

“So what if it is?” Mugen snaps. When Jin glances up Mugen’s not looking at him; his head is tipped back, his brows drawn down tight with irritation while he glares at the ceiling over them. “Just get on with whatever you’re gonna do so we can get around to getting me off.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Jin points out. He angles his hand in, spreads his fingers slightly. Mugen hisses and arches off the ground, grimaces in discomfort. Jin frowns, draws his hand back to try again. He’s slower this time, dragging out the movement so he can shift his angle, and as his fingers slide in deeper he’s rewarded by a huff of shock from Mugen.

“What the  _hell_?” He doesn’t sit up, but his chin drops down so he can stare at Jin’s arm like it’ll give him some explanation of what’s going on. “What are you fucking  _doing_?” It’s not protest, more shocked appreciation and legitimate curiosity warm in his throat.

“I told you,” Jin says, unable to entirely keep the purr of satisfaction out of his voice. This time when he pushes against Mugen the jerk of the other’s hips isn’t from pain; his breathing catches in his throat, comes out as so much of a moan that he claps a hand over his mouth as if to hold the reaction back.

Jin is willing to take his time, especially given Mugen’s lack of experience with this, but he’s barely settled into a rhythm for the gentle thrust of his fingers when fingers close bruise-tight on his wrist again.

“That’s  _enough_.” Mugen’s voice jumps high on the words, cracks out of control, but he stubbornly forces his way farther into the sentence. “You gonna fuck me or just play with me?”

“I fail to understand your insistence on the distinction,” Jin says. He still slides his hand free, starts to undo what remains of his clothing before Mugen shoves himself upright and beats him to it. Mugen’s not very careful, his fingers grab and yank rather than ease knots loose, but if he’s getting Jin’s clothes off Jin can lean in closer, touch his tongue behind Mugen’s ear and press his lips to the cool weight of the other’s earring. The scratch of fingernails against his stomach makes him jerk, the heat of fingers at his hip catches his breathing, but Mugen doesn’t waste his time with teasing either. He’s shoving Jin’s clothes aside and down, tangling them around the other’s knees so he can close his hand into a fist on Jin’s cock and drag the burn of friction over sensitive skin.

“ _Ah_ ,” Jin huffs, louder than he should given his proximity to Mugen’s ear. The other jerks his head away, pulls his hand up faster than Jin expects, and for a minute Jin can’t decide if it’s pain or pleasure burning out into his veins. He pulls away from Mugen’s skin, drags the other’s hand off him just as his body decides that that  _was_  satisfaction he was feeling and protests with another rush of blood to his cock. It make him shudder, spurs him to spit into his palm without even the flinch of distaste the action usually brings.

“Huh.” Mugen manages a decent approximation of a casual tone; Jin would believe him, even, except that his hands are clenched into fists against the floor and he’s so hard his cock is trembling against his stomach with every inhale. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Be quiet.” There’s no fire in the order; Jin’s too caught in carefully stroking over himself, coating his skin with as even lubrication as he can manage under the circumstances. “I’m trying to be considerate.”

“I don’t care,” Mugen offers, spreading his legs wider and tilting his hips. Jin can’t help but look down, the deliberation of his movement falling into stuttered speed with the invitation of Mugen’s position. “C’mon, are you trying to make me beg?”

“I think you already did,” but there’s really no point in waiting, anyway. Jin leans forward to press a hand against the floor, urging Mugen flat onto his back again and bringing their mouths into close proximity. Jin can feel Mugen’s breathing coming fast on his lips, can see the way the other’s eyes fall down to land on his mouth. Mugen’s still staring at his lips when Jin touches the inside of his knee to steady him and thrusts his hips forward.

Mostly Mugen is  _hot_. He’s burning, all his skin at all the points they touch, and tighter even than Jin expects, sending ripples of involuntary reaction all through Jin’s body. But he’s loud, too, not even bothering with speech as much as groaning on his exhale and growling some half-formed demand that is clear even without words. Jin’s arm is shaking, he’s in some danger of truly falling, but he lets Mugen’s leg go, leaves it to the other man to keep himself in place so he can reach down between them and curl his fingers around Mugen’s length.

Mugen  _jerks_  at the contact, rocks up off the floor like he’s trying to thrust into Jin’s half-formed hold, and Jin really does fall, drops the inch between them so Mugen is taking his weight for a minute. He collects himself as quickly as he can, comes back up on his elbow so he can tighten his fingers into a deliberate grip before stroking up against Mugen’s cock, and this time he’s braced for the reflexive shudder that runs through the other man.

“You move too much,” he offers, but he’s moving too, drawing back so he can thrust forward as he falls into a pattern around Mugen’s less-steady motion.

“What, you want me to just  _lie_  here?” Mugen spits. His throat is tense on the words but Jin can see the flush in his tanned cheeks, can hear the rush of his breathing that says it’s not true anger under his skin. “Just pretend to enjoy myself instead of the real thing?”

“ _Are_ you enjoying yourself?” Jin asks, even though he knows. He wants to see the way Mugen’s eyes narrow, the way his mouth goes heavy with a frown before Jin strokes over him and shatters everything around a groan instead.

“ _Fuck_.” Mugen is rocking up towards Jin’s movements, has one leg up so high around the other’s hip that Jin can feel a heel digging into his spine. But they’re finding a rhythm together, Jin’s breathing accidental counterpoint to Mugen’s, and Mugen’s going slick under Jin’s fingertips. “You want I should spell it out for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Mugen’s leg is starting to shake, telltale tremors Jin can feel from the line of contact at his back. “You’re making yourself quite clear without words.”

“ _Fuck_  you,” Mugen hisses, and Jin drags his hand up sharp and fast so whatever else the other was going to say falls away into a hissed moan. He doesn’t quite lean in to kiss him -- it would be hard, anyway, to fit a kiss around the frantic rush of Mugen’s breathing -- but he rests his mouth at the corner of Mugen’s chapped lips, shuts his eyes so he can hear the way Mugen’s breathing stalls out as his body draws taut under and around him. It’s only one more stroke after that, a careful play of fingers around flushed skin, and Mugen jerks and all but shouts as he comes.

Jin doesn’t take the time to worry about the damage being done to his clothes; they’re rumpled past help at this point, anyway. He thrusts forward harder, lets the shuddering convulsions of Mugen coming push him closer to the edge. Sticky fingers come down against Mugen’s hip, Jin’s head falls against Mugen’s shoulder, and he gives himself over to the promise of heat warming under his skin. There’s a pull at his hair, Mugen yanking the tie free, but Jin doesn’t protest that any more than he protests the arm that hooks around his shoulder to drag him in so close his skin drags over Mugen’s with every thrust. It’s all sensation, everything falling in together to pull tension into anticipation low in his stomach, and then Mugen hisses, “ _Jin_ ” and Jin goes breathless as all the disparate friction falls into a single point of satisfaction. The sound he makes isn’t coherent at all; it’s just a raw groan, louder and lower than he intends, pouring up out of his throat until it’s almost startling to hear around the sound of his own voice.

Jin pulls away as soon as he can compose himself from the overheated pounding of his heart and the shaky rush of pleasure in his veins. The cool air of the room dries the damp on his skin into salt almost immediately, draws attention to the mess on his fingers and across his shirt. He’s going to need to clean everything before he’s anything like presentable again. When he looks at Mugen the other is making no move to get his clothes back on, just lying on his back with his limbs spread wide into all the space around him and gazing at the ceiling with the softest expression Jin has every seen on his features.

“That wasn’t half bad,” he comments, and his voice is soft too, so gentle Jin doesn’t even remark on the backhanded nature of the compliment. “We should do that again sometime.”

“Glad I met with your approval,” Jin deadpans.

A hand snaps out, fingers close into a fist on the front of his shirt. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” Mugen snaps. “If you’ve got the time to think about things to say come down here.”

Jin can’t fight back the smile that cracks over his face even before Mugen yanks him back to fall to the floor alongside the other. He can feel Mugen’s grin when their mouths come together, pleasure undermining their attempts to kiss properly, the sharp edge of teeth catching at his lip until Jin half-expects Mugen to draw blood.

“Fucking queer,” Mugen says without pulling away, so the sound hums vibration over Jin’s lips.

Jin contemplates commenting on the irony of this statement. But Mugen’s eyes are sparkling, and the cut of his smile says he’s already aware. So Jin laughs instead, huffs amusement against Mugen’s mouth and lets the pleasure of teasing fill in the corners of his satisfied flush until there’s no tension in him anywhere.


End file.
